Upon a massive bench of polished ersite beneath the gorgeous blooms of a giantpimalia a woman sat. Her shapely, sandalled foot tapped impatiently upon thejewel-strewn walk that wound beneath the stately sorapus trees across thescarlet sward of the royal gardens of Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth, as adark-haired, red-skinned warrior bent low toward her, whispering heated wordsclose to her ear.

“Ah, Thuvia of Ptarth,” he cried, “you are cold even beforethe fiery blasts of my consuming love! No harder than your heart, nor colder isthe hard, cold ersite of this thrice happy bench which supports your divine andfadeless form! Tell me, O Thuvia of Ptarth, that I may still hope—thatthough you do not love me now, yet some day, some day, my princess,I—”

The girl sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise and displeasure.Her queenly head was poised haughtily upon her smooth red shoulders. Her darkeyes looked angrily into those of the man.

“You forget yourself, and the customs of Barsoom, Astok,” she said.“I have given you no right thus to address the daughter of Thuvan Dihn,nor have you won such a right.”

The man reached suddenly forth and grasped her by the arm.

“You shall be my princess!” he cried. “By the breast ofIssus, thou shalt, nor shall any other come between Astok, Prince of Dusar, andhis heart’s desire. Tell me that there is another, and I shall cut outhis foul heart and fling it to the wild calots of the dead sea-bottoms!”

At touch of the man’s hand upon her flesh the girl went pallid beneathher coppery skin, for the persons of the royal women of the courts of Mars areheld but little less than sacred. The act of Astok, Prince of Dusar, wasprofanation. There was no terror in the eyes of Thuvia of Ptarth—onlyhorror for the thing the man had done and for its possible consequences.

“Release me.” Her voice was level—frigid.

The man muttered incoherently and drew her roughly toward him

...

Thuvia, Maid of Mars

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Contents